


Do You Remember When?

by flash0flight



Category: Marvel
Genre: AU: No Powers, Against all odds, M/M, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:20:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flash0flight/pseuds/flash0flight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Bucky owns has been packed away in boxes, hidden away, tucked into a corner on the truck for them to take to the next house. Everything Steve’s known so well for years now. And it’s so strange to look around and see it all gone.<br/>They’ve known it’s coming for weeks now, and Steve still can’t believe it. Still can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that his best friend, the one person who means more to him than anything, is leaving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All Those Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl0nfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/gifts).



> A birthday present for my bihemispherically codependent best friend [Jackie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire).
> 
> Beta-ed by [Stassja](http://www.cyborgcap.tumblr.com)
> 
> Steve and Bucky were childhood friends, but when Bucky has to move away, they're sure they'll never see each other again, only to meet by chance 12 years later.
> 
> Title from Anberlin's [Younglife](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BdddceIqW2k), which you should also listen to when you read it.

“ Easy, Steve— deep breath, c’mon— “

A steady hand rubs along his back when Steve doubles over, leaning his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath, and it hurts, struggling for air like this, trying to make sure he doesn’t have an attack. If it had been up to him, he’d probably still be back there, trying to fight back and having to peel himself off the concrete more than a few times. But he knows Bucky was right there with him, and there’s no way the two of them can hold their own against five guys two grades up from them. Besides, now at least there’s less of an ache in his chest than usual, less distress in his mind, less worry that whatever bullies were just about to break Steve’s nose are going to find him.

And that’s how it always is, with Bucky. Steve always feels _safe_ with him, and it’s ridiculous— he knows he shouldn’t rely on anyone, knows he needs to take care of himself, but Bucky doesn’t always give him a chance, rushing in head on to help Steve however he can. It’s been like this for years, ever since they met, since Bucky saved his neck from some brats on base who thought they were better than him.

“ Easy for you— to say, you’re not the one dying over here— “ Steve gasps through laboured breaths, but there’s a grin curling the corner of his lips as he turns his head, glancing up at Bucky. And there’s plenty of concern in Bucky’s expression, always is, but there’s a hint of a thrill, something fun and amazing in his dark brown eyes that makes Steve’s breaths come a little easier, make the ache in his chest dull a bit more.

“ Well you’re not dying either, Rogers. Not today at least. “

Forcing his breaths to steady a little, Steve sucks in a couple of deep lungfuls of air, letting it circulate through his system and resisting the urge to cough, and he feels a little less like he’s going to faint. Enough to stand up straight and meet Bucky’s eyes and actually manage a smile.

“ Apparently not. We should— get back, gonna be late— “

“ We’ve got a few minutes, calm down. “ Bucky peers around the corner of the building to make sure the coast is clear, giving Steve a chance to pull himself together and calm down, to shake off what he can of the shock and the chase. He’s feeling okay, though, the dull ache in his chest wearing down, his airways actually cooperating for once, and if he’s lucky he won’t even need a puff from his inhaler by the time they get back to their classroom.

If Bucky hadn’t been here, Steve’d probably be peeling himself off the ground with a bloody nose and staving off an attack anyway.

“ Hey— “ Steve reaches out to snag Bucky’s sleeve, getting his attention enough for Bucky to turn around, an eyebrow raised. “ Thanks, Bucky. “

“ Don’t mention it, c’mon. You did most of the hard work. “

“ Guess that’s true, huh. I take it back, then. “

“ Hey, now that might be a little far, punk. “

“ I don’t think so, jerk. “

Grinning from ear to ear at each other, the two kids make their way out from behind the building, Bucky still keeping a lookout for anyone who might want to go another round. And it’s always been like that, always been safe with Bucky around. As much as Steve might not want to admit it, he’s always felt safer with Bucky around. He probably will for a long time, yet.

—

Steve knows Bucky’s room about as well as he knows he’s own. He has for _years_ ; and it’s no surprise, considering how much time he spends at Bucky’s house. He knows that the vent in the corner is loose and it’s a great place to hide snacks, he knows the ceiling fan always squeaks, he knows the floorboard just outside the door creaks whenever you stand on it. He could navigate the room with his eyes closed if he had to.

But it’s strange to see it now, stripped bare, completely empty. All Bucky’s furniture has been moved, taken downstairs and loaded in the moving truck, his books all packed away, his games and his toys, all the countless sketches Steve has done over the years that Bucky had insisted were incredible, _insisted_ were worth pinning up on the wall right above his desk, all gone bar one Steve had found on the floor when he’d come in a few minutes ago.

Everything Bucky owns has been packed away in boxes, hidden away, tucked into a corner on the truck for them to take to the next house. Everything Steve’s known so well for _years_ now. And it’s so strange to look around and see it all gone.

They’ve known it’s coming for weeks now, and Steve still can’t believe it. Still can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that his best friend, the one person who means more to him than _anything_ , is leaving.

“ Steve— “

Bucky’s voice startles him a little, and Steve has to remind himself to scrub at his eyes before he turns around, not wanting Bucky to see anything that shouldn’t be there, anything that would make this harder than it already is. Not that it matters— somehow, Bucky sees right through him. He always has.

“ It’s okay, c’mon— “

“ You dropped one, here— “

Holding the page out, Steve waits for Bucky to take it before meeting his eyes, and he doesn’t doubt Bucky can see how much he hates all of this, because Steve can see it all reflected in Bucky’s eyes, too. This is— this is _home_ for them, this is everything they both know and love. Not just here, not just this room or this house, and not just Steve’s place next door, but _this_. Being together, spending _time_ together, talking and laughing and playing, spending countless hours together and never getting tired of each other. Never wanting to find a reason to part, never spending more time without each other than they have to.

And Steve knows no matter what he does, he’s not gonna find anyone else like that. He’s never going to find anyone who makes him feel as happy, as important, as _real_ as Bucky does.

“ Steve, hey— it’s not like we’re never gonna _see_ each other again— “

Steve can’t help but laugh just a little, thick and somewhat bitter because the chances of them seeing each other again are slim to none, and they both know it. Still, he doesn’t try to resist when Bucky pulls him in for a hug, is more than happy to let Bucky rub a calming hand along Steve’s back.

“ Sorry— sorry, m’alright— had _weeks_ to be alright, I’m not— “

This is _ridiculous_ , Steve should have a grip on himself by now, if it was any other friend he’d be… well, okay, he’d be sad, but he’d manage, it’s keep it together, he’d find a way to move on.

But it’s not just any friend. It’s _Bucky._

“ You don’t have to be— hey, it’s me. You don’t have to be. “

Bucky sets his hands on Steve’s shoulders and pulls back, ducking his head a little to meet Steve’s eyes to give him a small smile, and Steve can’t help but nod. If anyone else had said it, he would never believe them, never let anyone know that he’s not coping when he should be. But it’s Bucky. Steve knows better than that.

“ I just— I’m gonna miss you, you know— “

“ I know, come on— I’m gonna miss you too. “

Taking the sketch out of Steve’s hand, he tugs his bag off his shoulder to tuck it away safely, and Steve can’t help but let the words tumble from his mouth.

“ You have to stop getting into fights, m’not— gonna be there to keep you out of them. And do your homework, no one else is gonna remind you beside your mom, and god knows you don’t listen to her— “

“ Alright, hey— I promise, but _you_ have to promise to take care of yourself, no more pushing yourself until you’re doubled over and wheezing, and be _careful_ in winter— “

“ Okay— I promise, Bucky. “

Setting the bag down by the door, Bucky turns to face him again, and they’ve only really got a few minutes left, they both know it. And it’s no where near enough, not even _close,_ but it’s all they have, and Steve doesn’t want to waste it.

“ Listen— I’ll call you as soon as we get there, okay? “

“ Right— of course. Knew that. “

“ You gotta— gotta grow, too. Next time I see you we better be the same height. “

“ Bucky— “

“ Promise me, Steve. “

Steve swallows thickly and nods, even if he knows it’s impossible, kids like him don’t just _grow_ overnight. He’s shorter than all the kids in their class, not to mention he’s thin as a twig and sickly as hell— but there’s no way Steve can say no to Bucky. Not right now.

“ James! Sweetheart, it’s time to go. “

Bucky’s mom yells up the stairs, startling them both, and they turn to face the door in synchronisation, their expressions falling, but they know arguing is pointless. Arguing will just mean both their mothers come upstairs, shortly followed by both their fathers, and that’s— neither of them want that. Not at all.

Turning back to face Bucky, Steve finds he’s already turned to him, holding out a hand for Steve to take, and he doesn’t even hesitate to do so. Hand in hand, they make their way out of Bucky’s room, and Steve has to force himself not to look back, not to think too hard about how empty it is, how empty the entire _house_ is now, as they head down the stairs.

Winifred, Bucky’s mom, is standing by the front door, talking quietly with Steve’s own mom, Sarah. The two of them have been doing their best to make this easy for both of them, but… well, there’s only so much they can do, really.

The two of them make their way past their mothers, heading out to the front yard where George and Joe, Bucky and Steve’s father’s respectively, are leaning against George’s packed car. Steve can just see Bucky’s little sister, Becca, in the window of the back seat, bobbing up and down with much more excitement than Steve could possibly feel right now.

Thank god Bucky’s still holding his hand.

“ C’mon, Winnie, it’s time to go. “

George’s voice hits all of them, silence descending upon the two families, and Steve wants to refuse to let go, wants to insist they _stay_ — but it doesn’t work that way, and Steve knows it. He knows if they had a choice, Bucky and his family wouldn’t be moving.

Bucky’s mom moves over to the car, opening the passenger door and turning to Bucky, giving him a look that they both understand. Bucky gives Steve’s and a small squeeze, chancing a sort of weak smile that Steve can’t help but return, however shaky.

“ I’ll talk to you in a few hours, alright? “

“ Yeah— yeah. Try not to go insane with Becca in there with you. "

“ I’ll do my best. You— hang tight, okay? Don’t worry— Sam’ll keep an eye on you. “

Steve gives one last nod before Bucky lets go, their hands sleeping out of each other’s grips, and all Steve can do is watch as Bucky heads over to the car. A pair of hands set themselves on Steve’s shoulders, strong and gentle and familiar, his mother’s hands, Steve knows. And they help Steve stay steady as he watches Bucky slide into the back seat beside Becca, watches the door close, watches the truck pull away and the car right behind it.

All he can do is watch as his best friend disappears, and there’s no way for them to know if they’re going to see each other again.

—

One year - and three moves - later, Bucky and his family finally settle in Indianapolis.

The house is nice, much the same as what he’s already used to, so Bucky’s not all that excited to check it all out. Becca’s already running around everywhere upstairs, trying to decide on which bedroom she wants, and his parents are outside with the movers.

Bucky, though, has planted himself on the stairs, his head in his hand s , and all he can think of is _where the hell did I leave that book?_

His address book lives in his backpack, he’s never been without it, through every move so far Bucky’s made sure he didn’t leave it behind. It’s got Steve’s number in it, he can’t lose it, especially not now. Last time he spoke to Steve, his dad had been killed in action and  he and  his mom were moving out of the base. If Bucky doesn’t call him before they move— god, how the hell are they going to get in touch again?

“ James? Come out here, the movers are going to start taking things upstairs. “

“ NOT YET! I’M STILL PICKING MY ROOM! “

Bucky rolls his eyes at his sister hollering down the stairs and hauls himself up, heading for the front door. His dad’s still talking to the movers about god knows what, and his mom is hovering by the front door, waiting.

“ Mom? Have you seen my book? “

“ Which book, dear? “

“ My notebook, with Steve’s number in it? “

“ I can’t say I have, honey— did you put it in one of the boxes? “

Bucky can feel his stomach sinking as he thinks back, and he’s so _sure_ he didn’t put it in a box, he wouldn’t— he always calls Steve the moment they get to a new house, just to make sure he knows everyone’s okay, and it’s— Bucky can’t imagine not calling Steve, not hearing his voice again. He _can’t_.

“ Just— keep an eye out for it? “

“ Of course, hey— I’m sure it’ll turn up somewhere. “ Winifred bends down to kiss the top of Bucky’s head, and he can’t help but give her a small smile and a slight nod, but he already knows it’s gone. No one else would have touched it, and Bucky would never have put it in a box, never packed it somewhere he couldn’t get to it immediately.

Which means it’s gone, left behind somewhere, Bucky’s never gonna see it again. And he could kick himself, resisting the urge to break something as he heads back into the house. Because if that book’s gone, if he doesn’t have Steve’s phone number, if he can’t remember it and Steve moves—

No. He has to find that book. He _has_ to.

—

“ Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to go. “

Sarah’s voice is tinged with a little concern as she steps into the kitchen, but Steve hardly even registers it, eyes glued to the phone. This can’t be right, Bucky should have called him two days ago when his family moved again. And Steve’s been waiting for it, darting to the phone every time it rings, hoping to god it’s Bucky when he answers it.

But it never is, and it just makes the horrible sinking feeling in his stomach all the worse every time.

“ Not yet, mom— please. He hasn’t called yet— “

“ Steve, sweetheart we can’t— “

“ But _mom_ — “

Steve feels his mother’s hand on his shoulder, and for a brief moment he wants to flinch away, wants to curl up in some corner of the house and point blank refuse to leave, wants to wait for Bucky’s call because he has to call. Bucky wouldn’t forget, he wouldn’t put it off, he just— he wouldn’t. Steve knows it. He has to wait, he has to—

Sarah’s grip tightens on his shoulder, turning him around gently and Steve can’t help but let her, can’t help but lean closer when his mom kneels down, letting her wrap her arms around him and it’s so familiar, with how much time Sarah’s spent holding him lately - for both their sakes really. Ever since Steve’s dad died, there’s been a lot more hugs, a lot more of Steve crawling into his mom’s bed in the middle of the night, a lot more tears and nightmares. A lot more of each other.

Really, the only thing other than a hug form Sarah that makes everything okay again, is Bucky’s calls.

“ I’m sorry, sweetheart, I— “

“ You’re sure you d-don’t— have their number—? “

“ C’mon, Steve— “

Swallowing a sob with a world of difficulty, Steve presses his face against Sarah’s shoulder, screwing his eyes shut tight before he can let any tears out and it’s— Steve knows he’s being impossible, he knows he should let go, he knew it the moment Bucky didn’t call when he said he would. But there’s a dull ache in his chest that he hasn’t been able to escape for days, and it’s ridiculous because they don’t even live near each other anymore, they’re not neighbours, they’re not really anything but friends. But Bucky’s always been more than that to Steve, he’s always just— felt like he belongs. Like he fills a gap in Steve’s life that’s just blank otherwise. Horrible, echoing emptiness.

And Steve knows it’s something he’s going to have to learn to live with, something he’ll have to try and fill.

For some reason, he doubts he ever will.

Pulling back to scrub at his eyes, Steve nods, a slight tilt of his head, and Sarah takes a moment to card her fingers through his hair, and it helps to calm him just a little, helps settle the unpleasant writhing in his stomach. Taking her hand, Steve sucks in a deep breath and follows her out of the house, ears still straining desperately to hear the phone ring even when part of him knows it’s not going to.


	2. Last Time You Looked Me In The Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years later, and Steve's new job has more to offer than he'd anticipated.

Steve’s never been so nervous in his life.

Clasping his hands together behind his back as he waits for the elevator, Steve can’t help but glance around the lobby, resisting the urge to pull at his tie. He’s only three years out of college and he’s somehow managed to score the most amazing interview for the job of his dreams. SHIELD comics is known around the entire world, everyone loves their characters and their stories, and it all comes down to the writers and the artists.

And if all goes well today, Steve could be one of those artists.

Realistically, he probably won’t get it. His work isn’t all that great— sure, he’s been drawing for years, as long as he can remember actually, but there are some fantastic artists out there, people who would kill for this job, and Steve can’t even imagine going up against some of them.

Still— this is a job Steve’s wanted for years, and he’s going to do whatever he can to get it.

The elevator doors slide open, releasing a large group of people, and Steve steps out of the way to let them pass, mind already running over the portfolio in his hand, trying to think if he’s forgotten anything important, anything that could be the difference between winning and losing.

And he’s so focused on the incoming interview that he almost misses the sight of an oddly familiar one sided grin, and the face is unfamiliar - handsome, but unfamiliar - but there’s something in those eyes that just seems so—

_Bucky??_

Blinking a few times, Steve watches the man walk away— he’s a bit shorter than Steve, but most people are, with curled brown hair, sharp jaw, and bright brown eyes that just seem so _similar_ to Bucky’s eyes. And Steve hasn’t— god, it’s been thirteen years since he even saw Bucky’s eyes but he remembers them as clear as anything. But it _can’t_ be—

Shaking his head, Steve steps into the elevator, wondering if maybe he should have gotten some more sleep last night. It’s messing with his head, it must be, because there’s no way— Bucky and his family moved, there’s no way he’d be here. No way he’d be in _this_ building. If anything, Bucky would have enlisted to make his dad proud, would have gone off to war. He could be anywhere right now.

The last place he would be is the building of a multi-billion dollar comics company, especially not the one Steve wants to work for. There’s no way the world is that kind.

Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, Steve focuses on the interview ahead, trying to run through his portfolio in his mind again, but he just can’t shake how familiar those eyes were.

—

“ See? I told you it was gonna be fine. “

Steve can’t help but smile over his glass at Sam, still a little surprised at the pride he sees in Sam’s eyes. They’ve grown up together really, known each other since school, watched each other’s backs. If anyone’s gonna be proud of him for this, it’s Sam; the guy’s watched him struggle through art school and college and hours labouring over practicing and trying to perfect his work and his samples, after all.

“ When do you start? “

“ Monday. At least— I meet the writer on Monday. “ Steve shrugs a little and takes another sip of beer, trying not to think too hard about his new job. He’s wanted it for _so long_ now, but if he lets himself get overwhelmed by it he’s going to crash and burn on the first day and he can’t let that happen. Not when this is the opportunity of a lifetime.

“ So you start on Monday, c’mon— “ Sam throws back the rest of his drink and signals for another one, eying Steve’s still half-full glass with disapproval. “ Stop stressing out and finish your damn drink. I’m buying, remember? “

“ Well, in that case— “ Following suit, Steve downs the rest of his beer just in time for another, letting the buzz spread through his system, and it’s nice to be out with Sam like this, having a few drinks and relaxing, especially after spending weeks preparing for this one interview, perfecting his portfolio every waking moment of the day, before and after the awful, boring job he’s got now. Knowing that he got it, got the job he’s been dying for, the one that could make everything fit in his life for the first time since—

The memory swims back to the surface of Steve’s mind, the brief sight of that smile, of those deep brown eyes that are so familiar for some reason, and Steve hesitates for a second, his hand dropping around the full glass of beer still waiting for him while Sam starts on his. He should keep it to himself, it’s— _ridiculous_ , really, to assume that it might be, but— if there’s anyone Steve can tell, it’s Sam.

“ Hey— “ Steve starts a little hesitantly, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown before he continues; “ Do you remember that kid we were friends with back in the day? The one who— moved off the base when we were twelve? “

“ Uh— you mean the one you were practically joined at the hip with? Bucky? “

“ Yeah, he— you haven’t heard anything from him, have you? Hasn’t tracked you down by any chance? “

Sam raises an eyebrow, watching Steve with a hint of amusement tinged with concern, and it’s a really obscure question, no reason for it whatsoever, besides the fact that Steve could swear those were Bucky’s eyes—

“ I haven’t heard from him since he moved, Steve. Why? “

“ I— nothing, hey. Stupid. “

“ C’mon— “ Reaching out and clapping Steve on the shoulder, Sam give him a smile and takes another sip of his beer. “ Pretty sure you’ve told me plenty of stupid ideas before and I didn’t laugh too much. “

“ Like your ideas aren’t worse. “ It’s an easy back and forth they’ve had for so long, and Steve can’t help but smile, but something still feels a little off in the back of Steve’s mind. “ I just— could have sworn I saw him today. Just before the interview. “

“ What? Steve— “ Sam’s forehead creases in confusion, a hint of worry in his eyes, and Steve can already predict what he’s going to say. “ It’s been thirteen years, unless you stuck the guy’s face in one of those aging computer programs— “

“ Funny, Wilson— look, forget it— “

“ No, c’mon— I’m just saying. Logically, there’s no way you would know it’s him— “

“ I know— “

“ But you think it was? “

“ I— yeah. Yeah— I do. He just— he had Bucky’s _eyes_ , Sam— “

“ Steve, millions of people in the country have brown eyes. The chances of it being Bucky— “

“ I know— I know. Don’t have to tell me that. “

Not for the first time, Steve reminds himself to keep his feet on the ground for once, to be logical instead of floating around in half-forgotten dreams from when he was twelve. From when he’d lost his best friend thanks to pure chance and misfortune.

At least, that’s what Steve tells himself. Much easier to stomach - even so many years later - than believing Bucky just got bored of him and decided not to call. Especially on a night when they’re celebrating Steve’s new job. The last thing he wants to do is mope about how many people never thought he was worth it, let alone add someone so important to said that list.

“ Told you it was stupid. “ Steve shrugs, taking a gulp of his beer to take the edge off, to take his mind away from thoughts he shouldn’t be having anymore.

“ And I told you I wouldn’t laugh too much. See? Didn’t laugh at all. “

“ Such a good friend, Wilson. “

“ You know it, Rogers. “

—

Rolling over in bed, Steve squints at the clock on his nightstand, eyes taking a moment to focus before he can read the time. 2:07am. Fantastic.

Groaning quietly, he turns over onto his back again and raises a hand to rub his eyes, trying to get the image of whoever it was out of his head. For three days now he’s been trying to convince himself that it wasn’t Bucky, that he didn’t see that kid in some random guy who walked out of a goddamn elevator. That he’s not flashing back to the _one_ person who made him happy when hardly anything could.

The one person who saw Steve, not how small and frail and stunted he was. Not how sick he was. Not how small he was. Just _Steve_.

Shaking his head, Steve flicks his bedside lamp on and shakes at his head, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and he really needs to get some more sleep. He has to be up early for the job, he starts today and he’s meeting the writer he’s going to be working with for his first story arc and he cannot afford to screw this up. If the writer doesn’t like him, how the hell are they going to work together?

And Steve can’t afford that. He just can’t afford to get a job this great only to blow it so quickly. If he does, any hope of getting a good job after that are down in smoke. Not to mention Steve doesn’t want to lose this job. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, it’s the sort of chance he could only dream of. He can’t— won’t screw this up.

“ Get it together, Rogers. “

Mumbling to himself under his breath, Steve flops back against his pillows, rubbing at his eyes again in a vain attempt to rid himself of the image of not-really-Bucky. That brief moment, the flash of a grin and a moment of eye contact is burned into his memory though, the one sight Steve can’t help but see every time he closes his eyes.

Which makes sleeping goddamn difficult, apparently.

Flicking the lamp off again, Steve stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, as though somehow it’s going to offer him some sort of new image to fixate on, and waits for the pull of sleep to finally come.

—

“ Everything looks fine here, Mr. Rogers. “

“ Please, call me Steve. “

Steve’s new boss isn’t as intimidating as he’d been told. In fact, Nick Fury seems pretty agreeable, for the time being at least. He’s sure the guy’s got a wicked temper, and the eyepatch had bee a bit of a shock at first, but all in all, Steve’s sure he can work for this guy just fine.

What he’s really worried about is meeting the writer.

“ Well, Steve, good to have you on board. Could use some fresh artists, honestly. “

Fury’s very no nonsense, straight to the point, and Steve can’t help but chuckle at the more than displeased tone in his voice, hoping to god that he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. And he really shouldn’t be nervous, not when he’s already got the job, not when this is already a done deal, but Steve just can’t help it, not when the future of said job all depends on his first arc, and that very much depends on how he and the writer Interact.

“ Here’s hoping I’m what you’re looking for. “

Thank god Steve doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels, considering he’s pretty sure his palms are sweating and he might be sick  i f all doesn’t go reasonably well. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Steve forces the knot of nerves in his stomach to die down, tells himself to get a grip. Everything’s going to be fine, he knows it, he tries to get along with everyone, there’s no reason he won’t get along with this guy, too.

“ Guess your writer’s gonna have more of an idea than I am. “

Oh boy, there’s the nerves again.

Steve stays silent, watching as Fury presses the intercom on his phone, and his words are mostly lost to Steve as he gives himself another chance to settle, to grasp onto common sense and remind himself that this is a job, this is important, and he can make it all work no matter what. He’s done it before with much less important jobs in his life, and he can do it again with this one.

He has to. Steve’s worked too hard for this job to give it all up.

There’s no more time to be nervous though, considering the footsteps Steve can hear on the other side of the door, and he’s just pushed himself out of the chair in time when the door swings open, and—

_Son of a bitch._

Something warm and strong and painfully familiar sparks in Steve’s chest, and he has to remind himself not to let his jaw drop at the sight of the man who’d caught his eye in the lobby the other day, not to look too gobsmacked at the fact that the guy with the startlingly familiar eyes and a cheeky, goddamn gorgeous grin is standing right in front of Steve, that he’s— Jesus Christ, he must be the writer.

“ This is James Barnes, he’s the writer I’ve assigned you with for your first arc. “

_No way, it can’t be—_

“ Call me Bucky, everyone does. “

_Holy shit._

Bucky. Bucky goddamn Barnes is standing right in front of him, and all Steve can do is stare in complete shock, trying very desperately to make his brain run again but he can’t because _Bucky’s right here_ after all these years and it’s—

“ I— I’m Steve. It’s— nice to meet you, Bucky. “

Steve reaches out to shake Bucky’s hand and it’s bizarre standing so close to him, knowing he’s there and not doing anything, not saying anything, not showing a hint of recognition and hoping to god Bucky figures it out. There’s no reason he would though, no reason at all— last time they saw each other, Steve was shorter than Bucky, frail and sick, and he’d been to shy to even showed his art to his parents let alone could consider getting it published. 

Now Steve stands at a shocking six foot, steadily built from a very late growth spurt and a lot of time exercising, the rattle of asthma in his lungs all but gone, no trace of illness or pain or anything in his system. He’s entirely different, there’s no reason—

“ Steve— wait, what’s your last name? “

_No way—_

“ Rogers. Steve Rogers. “

“ Holy _shit_ — You’re kidding me, right? “

“ Not kidding. I can show you my license if you want. “

Steve can’t help but chuckle nervously at the way Bucky’s staring at him like he’s a ghost, like this was the one thing he hadn’t been expecting, and Steve feels exactly the same. It’s been years since they saw each other, years since Steve lost hope that he was ever going to find his best friend again. And now all he can do is stare in wonder because Bucky’s right here, and despite all the years that have passed... Steve can still see that same kid right in front him.

“ Shit— god _damn_ , it’s been— god, what, twelve years? “

Bucky’s fumbling for words, and Steve can understand because really, he feels very much the same right now, trying to figure out what the hell to say, and how to say it.

“ Thirteen, you— wow, Bucky— “

Eloquent, Rogers. Really.

“ I take it you two know each other, huh? “

Fury’s voice cuts through the haze descending on Steve, but he doesn’t look away, still watching Bucky closely and— god, the more he looks, the more he sees it, sees that kid he spent so many afternoons with, the kid who never looked down on him, the kid who was there for him for years after Steve’s family moved to that base.

“ Yeah, we— knew each other when we were kids. “

Not even for a second does Steve take his eyes off Bucky when he answers, and god he hopes his eyes aren’t betraying him right now because there’s something warm and fond and familiar in Steve’s chest that’s only growing stronger by the second, and it’s ridiculous because they haven’t even seen each other in years, so much has changed and yet—

“ Well then, working together’s gonna be easy. Get to it, boys. “

“ Yes, sir. “

Bucky mocks a salute in Fury’s direction before spinning on his heel and heading out of the room, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Steve’s following. Like there’s any chance he couldn’t— when did Steve not follow Bucky?

—

Bucky’s digging through Steve’s portfolio, eyes running over every piece in there while Steve waits for him, and it’s a good thing Bucky’s distracted because what the hell is he even supposed to say? He’s sitting in an office with a guy he hasn’t seen in years, someone he’d long since accepted he would never see again— not only that, they’re going to be working together on a comic arc Steve knows he’s going to love, even if they don’t know what it’s going to be yet.

And he doesn’t know what to say. A hundred possibilities are running through Steve’s mind, a hundred things he wants to say, things he wants to tell Bucky about, things he hasn’t talked about in years, questions that need answering. Things he feels he has the right to know, after waiting so long. But it wouldn’t fit to open with “what happened, why didn’t you call me?” because not only does it sound oddly childish, it’s not Steve’s place to ask anymore.

Not when so many years have passed, and not when so much as clearly changed.

Really, it’s going to be easier to talk about now, to talk about work, to focus on their job rather than—

“ You— look good, Bucky. “

Great, Rogers. Really subtle.

“ I mean— you’re obviously doing alright. “

Bucky laughs quietly, turning his gaze from Steve’s portfolio and eyeing him like he’d done a hundred times before, and Steve has to remind himself not to fidget because he has no reason to anymore.

“ I look good? Jesus, Steve— last time I saw you you were shorter than me, and you were sick as a dog. Bet that asthma’s cleared up now, huh. “

Nodding a little absently, Steve can’t help but smile, feeling a little sheepish. Not many people know how he used to be before his growth spurt - which no one had expected, really - and as much as Steve might have gotten used to people telling him he looks good now, he’s not so used to hearing it in comparison to how he used to be.

It’s true, though. He’s not sick anymore, not gasping for air for no reason, not struggling to get out of bed on winter mornings. He’s not the shortest kid in class anymore, not getting beaten down for getting in the way, not getting bullied for opening his mouth before he could help it.

Not that it really mattered; Bucky always had his back, no matter how much trouble Steve managed to land in.

“ That’s— good, though. M’glad. Told you you had to get those inches, didn’t I? “

“ Yeah— guess you did. “

They share a smile, and it’s so familiar, so like it used to be when they were kids, that Steve can’t help but feel like things are exactly the way they used to be, at least a little bit.

And hey, at least he knows he’s definitely working with someone he knows he can trust.

—

_Jesus Christ._

Bucky drops his keys on the table, his bag by the door, and all but falls onto his couch, facedown on a cushion as his mind reels, running through everything from that day. And he still can’t believe it, can’t fathom the idea that he actually _found_ Steve after all these years— well, it’s more like Steve found him, he’s the one who applied for the job, but he had no idea either.

All these years, Bucky’s been working so _hard_ for this chance, for an arc all to himself with a good artist and a solid possibility of actually getting somewhere. And he’d always known this was going to be hard, he’d known it the moment he’d sat his parents down in high school and told them he didn’t want to enlist like his dad had, that he wanted to write, that he had so much to let out through words and stories. They’d told him it would take a hell of a lot of work, that writers need to be smart or they fall through the cracks, but they’d always supported him, even if they didn’t understand why. Even if _Bucky_ hadn’t entirely understood why.

And all Bucky can think about is that day when he’d lost his damn notebook, when he’d frantically searched every box that was his, and then every other box in the house, trying desperately to look for it so he could make that phone call. How much it had hurt when he’d reali z ed he’d lost it, reali z ed he’d never be able to call Steve all because he’d been too stupid to keep a book on hand. And he’d spend weeks looking for it—weeks _hoping_ that somehow he would remember Steve’s number, that somehow Steve would be able to call _him_ instead. Bucky can still remember how long he’d hoped against all hope that they’d fall in touch again, that he’d be able to track Steve down, that somehow, some miracle would hit and they’d find each other again.

It had taken… a long time, longer than Bucky would care to admit, even to himself, to let go. To accept that he was never going to hear from Steve again. And he’d hated it, the feeling that he’d abandoned Steve, especially with how much they’d meant to each other. Thinking about it now, though, maybe _that’s_ why he picked this instead of a life in the army like George had.

Now they’re working together. Isn’t that just bizarre as all hell. _Incredible_ , but bizarre. Steve was one of the few people who actually understood Bucky, who appreciated him for more than a quick laugh. Steve was— something familiar, something that felt like home, something he never thought he’d have again.

Something he’d felt today when it’d clicked, when Bucky’d realized just who Steve was.

Shifting on the couch to roll over, Bucky stares pointlessly at the ceiling, dragging a hand down his face. Of all the things he’d never thought he’d get in his life, Steve was one of them. Even seeing him again is a big deal, but working with him? Especially seeing as the kid he’d known didn’t show his sketches to anyone but Bucky.

But hey, that kid was shorter than Bucky, and a hell of a lot sicker than he is now. Times change, apparently. Now, Bucky just has to make sure he doesn’t blurt out how gorgeous Steve’s gotten - which could be a problem, considering Bucky has very little brain-mouth filter. They grew up together for Christ’s sake, what could be more inappropriate than telling your long lost best friend that he’s become ridiculously hot? Especially now that they’re actually working together.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And it’s not just that, it’s that he’s— god, he’s funny, he’s bright and sharp and charming in a very honest aw-shucks sort of way, and he’s modest, he doesn’t seem to realize how incredible he is, doesn’t register that he’s just— just perfect.

Damn him.

Pulling himself off the couch with a drawn-out sigh, Bucky fishes his phone out of his pocket to double-check the time. He’s due at a bar a couple of blocks away in about half an hour for drinks with Becca - even if he’s still not entirely used to the fact that his little sister can sit at a bar and order a drink with him - and he knows she’s going to kick his ass if he’s late.

Besides, she’s gonna want to hear about this.

—

There are few days during the year where Steve can really let go. His mom’s birthday is one of them, though.

He’d spent half of Saturday afternoon painstakingly making his mom’s favourite cake, making sure to get every single detail and flavour just right before he could even think about leaving, and it had been a lot of work, but it’d been worth it. Besides, after two weeks of focusing so hard on his work, on this new arc and the job as a whole, it’s nice to focus on something that isn’t his job.

And that doesn’t involve Bucky.

Which is ridiculous really, it’s only been two weeks and somehow Steve is hung up on Bucky like there’s no tomorrow, and it’s not like when they were kids, it’s not some sweet comforting friendship. All that familiarity, that kindness, it’s all still there, but... something’s different now. Something’s changed, and Steve’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, considering every time he sees Bucky all he wants to do is admit that he’s falling head over heels for the guy. Which is pretty much the best way to screw up everything.

Considering how long Steve’s wanted this job, and how long it’s been since he’s even seen Bucky, Steve’s not about to screw it all up.

Taking as much care as possible as he sets the cake box down in the car, Steve breathes a sigh of relief at the evening ahead, the dinner he’s going to have with his mom, the fact that he’ll likely stay the night, sleeping in the bed that he’s been too big for since he was sixteen. Comfortable and familiar and steady. Much more steady than everything else has been lately.

Steve can only hope that it gives him a chance to get away from thinking about Bucky for the first time in two weeks.

—

“ You know I can handle that, Steven. “

Steve simply smiles and continues scrubbing away at the dishes, sleeves rolled up far enough to keep them safe from any rogue splashes. He’d arrived just in time to shoo his mother away from the kitchen before she could cook her own birthday dinner, and had made a point of taking care of everything for her. Ever since Steve moved out, Sarah hasn’t had much of anyone to take care of her, and Steve likes to make sure she remembers he’s there whenever he needs her.

Besides, they’re really all the other has left in the world, now.

“ It’s just a few dishes mom, leave it be. “ Steve insists, nudging gently at her with his elbow and giving her a soft chuckle as she tries to push him away from the sink. He doesn’t budge though, and Sarah ends up surrendering with a huff, taking to drying the dishes and setting them away instead. And this...this is steady, exactly as Steve remembers things had always been, the two of them working together to make the house a home, even when it came to small things like doing chores together.

And after two weeks of madness, Steve welcomes that with open arms.

“ What is it, dear? “

“ Hm? “

Snapping out of his daze, Steve glances over to find Sarah watching him carefully, a small frown setting wrinkles in her forehead. His first instinct is to insist he’s fine, that nothing’s bothering him, but Sarah has always been fantastic at spotting Steve’s lies and coverups, and really, he couldn’t lie to her even if he wanted to.

“ Something’s been bothering you, I can see it. “

Sarah’s voice is kind, steady, and whatever resolve Steve had to keep things under wraps shatters when she sets a hand on his arm, stilling his movements.

Damnit.

“ It’s just— work, that’s all. “

“ Why? I thought it was your dream job. Everything you’ve been working for for years. “

“ It is— c’mon, it’s great. Don’t look at me like that— “

Steve can’t help but smile as he watches his mom’s eyebrows raise higher and higher, almost as though it’ll help her read his mind somehow, not that she’s ever needed any help with that in the past. And it’s not as though she’s going to try and pry it out of him; she’s never done that, never forced Steve to talk when he doesn’t want to.

But she also knows that most of the time, Steve wants to tell her more than he wants to tell anyone else.

“ Well then, it’ll be worth it. Whatever it is that’s stuck in your mind, it won’t be enough to deter you from your dream. Nothing ever has. “

Steve can’t help but smile at how easy it still is for Sarah to see right through him, to know exactly what to say even when she doesn’t know what’s going on.

And really, she’s right. Steve knows it. He’s been dying for a job like this for years now, he can’t give it up. Not for anything. Not even for—

“ The writer? It’s— Bucky. “

“ Bucky? That’s wonderful, Steve, you finally found him. “

Sarah squeezes his arm gently and goes back to her dishes, a small smile curling the corners of her lips. One that Steve knows, one she only ever uses when she’s happy for him.

“ Yeah— yeah. Finally found him. “

The problem is, if Steve’s not careful, he’s gonna screw everything up. And he knows it.

—

The more they work together, the more Steve can’t help but feel as though everything else is falling away, as though they’re kids again, curled over a desk working on a school project together, and it never mattered about their deadlines or about the other students, they never cared about anything but each other, but being together.

And somehow it’s the same now, watching Bucky run his hand through his hair for the tenth time today, watching his forehead furrow when he gets stuck on an idea, watching his lips curl up into a smile when he figures out a plot hole. It’d been hard at first, a little strange to figure out where they stood, how to settle into something more professional with the history they both have behind them, but after a few days—well, this had been easier. Talking about work, about the book, about everything they need to work on, steering clear of delving into anything personal yet.

Though, it often leaves Steve like this, stuck wondering while Bucky works away. And Steve knows he needs to focus on the work, knows they need to work through this book and get it planned and ready to go, they have so much work to do, and there is so much more Steve could be doing right now than watching Bucky talk, but—

This seems to fit, sitting here with Bucky again. It feels _right_.

It’s enough, Steve thinks, having this with him. Even if he wants more… this is enough. It has to be.

—

“ I swear I had these drafts in here _somewhere_ — “

“ Steve, relax, you’re going to give yourself— “

“ Don’t get asthma attacks anymore, remember. Just— give me a minute, I had them— “

Shuffling through his papers, Steve curses under his breath. He knows he put his latest drafts in his folder this morning, he would swear on his goddamn life if he had to, and somehow they’re still missing.

And it’s not the first time he’s forgotten something in the past month since he and Bucky started working together. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that he’s so eager to get this job done right, or if it’s the fact that every goddamn day when Steve tries to work on this book at home all he can think about is how incredible it is to spend every single day with Bucky working on something they both love.

Or to be spending time with him at all, to see the way his eyes light up when they work on this arc, to watch the grin curve his lips, watch it turn to the sweetest smile Steve’s ever seen—

God, he’s completely gone for this guy.

“ Look— _relax_ , Steve. It’s six o’clock on a Friday, give yourself a break. “

It shouldn’t be that easy for Steve to unwind just a little, but it is. Bucky’s assurances coupled his hand on Steve’s shoulder break through his frustrations and help him settle just a little, enough to at least stop panicking over something so small.

“ You’ve been working your ass off all week, just— c’mon, let’s get a drink or something. “

“ What— Bucky, I can’t, I’ve gotta finish— “

“ We’re ahead of schedule. You don’t have to finish anything until at least next week. “

“ I know, _I know_ — “

Letting out a sigh, Steve sets the pages of artwork and drafts and notes down on the table, rubbing at his eyes instead. He’s been working himself to death for the past week at least, hardly even sleeping in an attempt to get the arc ready as soon as possible. And it has nothing to do with the fact that whenever he closes his eyes all he sees is Bucky.

Not a single thing.

“ C’mon, let’s— go get a drink. You’ll feel better. “

A drink with Bucky. That’s definitely going to help. Really, Steve should say no. Play it safe, do the smart thing, keep some sort of reasonable distance—

“ Alright, sure. Sounds good. “

It’s just a drink, right?

Right. Of course.

—

Somehow, sitting at a bar with Bucky and staring at his slowly sweating beer is just making Steve more nervous. Which is probably because when they’re in the office, he can at least force himself to concentrate on work, to focus on his sketches and his drafts and how well they match Bucky’s writing and how best to adjust everything. Now there’s just them, and it’s— _strange_. It’s hard to focus on anything, hard not to pay too much attention to the way Bucky’s lips always seem to be curled up a little into some kind of half-grin, the way his eyes flash whenever he looks around, sharp and bright and taking in everything like he always have, the way his hands move over the surface of the bar—

God, Steve is gone.

“ Thanks— for this. Needed a break, I guess. “

Shrugging absently, Steve takes a sip of his beer, more for a distraction than anything because if he’s not careful Bucky’s going to catch him staring and wouldn’t that just be all kinds of awkward.

“ Hey, no big deal. Pretty sure there was a vein about to pop in your forehead. “

“ Gee, thanks for that. “

“ No worries. Now relax, finish your drink. Swear, you were always like this in school, too— “

Because that’s a conversation Steve really wants to have. Considering they haven’t even talked about... well, anything from when they were kids, let alone why they lost touch to begin with.

“ By the way, how’s Sam doing? “

“ Sam—oh, he’s doing good. Remember his thing with birds back when we were kids? He’s studying Orthinology, now. “

“ You know, for some reason I’m not surprised. If the guy had a choice, he’d probably live in a nest. “

“ You should see his place. It practically _is_ a nest. “

They both chuckle softly, breaking some of the ice, and Steve can’t help but share a small smile with him. It’s the first time they’ve really talked about anything from back then, from when they were still kids, but it doesn’t feel so—forced, so uncomfortable.

Bucky seems to take the hint, too, asking a few more questions about Steve’s mom, how she’s doing, where she’s living now. Soon they fall into a sort of catch-up game, talking about each other’s families, schools they both went to, what they studied in college. Bucky of course asks Steve when he had his growth spurt, and Steve can’t help but wonder when Bucky gave up baseball.

And it’s more comfortable like this, talking about the good things, catching up on a few things they missed over the years, but Steve can feel himself very carefully avoiding anything to do with why they lost touch, or _when_ they lost touch. He shouldn’t ask, he knows it, he should leave it be, it was years ago—

“ Bucky, what happened back then? “

Silence hits him hard, and Steve regrets asking the question before Bucky’s even given him an answer. It’s stupid, it happened so many years ago and it doesn’t even matter anymore. For all Steve knows, Bucky just got tired of him whining and always being sick and never having any faith in himself and—

“ I lost my book. You know the one I kept all your phone numbers and all in? I just— lost it in one of the moves. We couldn’t find it anywhere, and trust me— I looked. For weeks, but— “

That— that’s it? It was something so small so simple— God, Steve could almost laugh at that, at the fact that it was something as simple as losing a book, that Bucky didn’t just forget about him.

And Steve can remember all those months, years even, of wondering what he’d done to chase off the one person who never seemed like they’d disappear. All that time trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong, how he’d messed up the best friendship he had. When in reality, Bucky hadn’t wanted it to happen, either.

“ Guess that’s what we get for not giving each other’s numbers to our parents for safekeepings, huh. “

Chuckling a little bitterly, Steve takes another sip of his beer, his mind reeling to reevaluate every thought he had back then because _Bucky didn’t abandon him_ —

“ I never— thought I’d lose it. I was so mad when I did. “

“ You— yeah? Really? “

“ Well of course, c’mon. You were my best friend, Steve. “

The first thing that comes to mind is to insist Bucky had better friends, that everyone liked him, that it was always easy for him to meet new people no matter what he did, but there’s something in the way he says it that makes Steve pause, makes him float back to all those years ago when they were kids, side by side practically all the time, when Bucky used to tell all the bullies that if they wanted his best friend they’d have to go through him first.

And there’s a warm sort of finality to it that makes Steve smile, makes everything fade away until all he can see is the how bright Bucky’s eyes are, how sweet and familiar his smile is. How much it still feels like home, even after all these years.

Which is probably— bad, because it’s been years and Steve knows he shouldn’t be so attached. Not after so long. And especially not like this.

“ I think— “ Finishing off his beer, Steve slides off the stool and shrugs his jacket on, taking care not to meet Bucky’s eyes. And it’s— he’s being stupid irrational and a little childish but the last thing Steve wants to do is let a friendship go to hell again just because he can’t get his act together. The last thing he’d expected was that, was for Bucky to have cared so much, to _still_ care so much. Even all these years later, Steve still doesn’t—he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand why Bucky bothered with someone like him. “ I think I’m gonna head off. Thanks for the drink, Bucky— “

“ Steve, wait— “

“ I’ll see you on Monday, yeah? “ Turning to the door, Steve pulls his jacket a little closer and waves over his shoulder, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, one that’s doing it’s best to tell him to stop running from this, even if he tells himself it’s to keep what slight friendship they’ve managed to find again.

—

Damnit. _Damnit_.

Abandoning the last of his drink, Bucky swings off the stool and heads for the door, barely remembering to pick his jacket up on the way before he’s out the door, spinning around to try and find Steve.

What the hell was that about, anyway? It was just a drink, right, it wasn’t a big deal— not to Steve at least, there was no chance in hell it was anything but a drink for him, so why the hell was he rushing out like that?

_There he is_ —

Pushing past a few people, Bucky hurries along the sidewalk, trying not to listen to the little voice in his head that’s telling him that this is a really bad idea, but—

“ Steve, hold on for a second— “

Snagging the sleeve of Steve’s jacket, Bucky pulls him back, looking up to meet his eyes and everything he wanted to say just evaporates then and there, completely disappears and Bucky’s stuck wondering what the hell he did wrong.

And Steve’s just watching him, a small frown creasing his forehead, and Bucky needs to say something right now before—

“ C’mon, look— whatever I said wrong, I’m sorry— “

“ Bucky, don’t— c’mon, we’re not kids anymore, you don’t have to take care of me. “

“ But I want to. “

Jesus Christ, that’s just perfect. Way to go, Barnes, really got a hold on that brain-mouth filter.

That was the last thing he meant to say, especially considering it means watching Steve’s eyes widen in surprise and all he can think of is god _I’ve screwed this up haven’t I_.

“ You— what? Why? “

And apparently some things just don’t change, because Bucky can still remember the surprise in Steve’s eyes when they were kids and he realized Bucky actually wanted him around, like Bucky didn’t think he was all kinds of incredible then too.

“ Because You’re— incredible, I don’t get how you still don’t see that— “

Oh, because that’s going to make it better.

“ Bucky— that’s not— you don’t have to— “

“ Apparently I do, you’re— God, you’re still the same, you’re amazing and you don’t even see it, you never did— “

“ We were kids, I wasn’t— “

“ Stop it! Stop it, you don’t— “ Before Bucky knows what he’s doing, he’s reaching out for Steve’s arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist and holding on tight as though maybe Steve’s going to slip out of his grasp again, and that’s just not something Bucky’s willing to face, not again. “ You don’t get it, do you. I always thought you were— amazing. Always. “

Oh shit. There’s no going back now.

—

This can’t be happening. Steve must not be hearing this right, because that’s not possible—

Bucky’s still talking, his mouth is still moving, but the words are mixing up in his mind, jumbling up and twisting around each other to the point where Steve just can’t make sense of them, because there’s no way Bucky actually sees him like that.

“ Look— Bucky, stop— it’s fine, let it go. “

“ No, you’re not— listening to me— “

“ There’s nothing to listen to! Look— so we work together, it’s not— “

Something shifts in Bucky’s eyes, and Steve regrets saying it immediately because he never thought he would be the one to make Bucky look like that, like everything’s just falling down around him, and it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, a painful ache that makes him want to back-pedal and do everything he possibly can to make things right again.

“ Right— right, we work together— “

“ No— Bucky— “ Bucky’s hand slips from his wrist, but Steve moves fast to reach for him before his hand can fall, holding on tight because this wasn’t meant to happen, Bucky wasn’t meant to say this let alone give Steve the chance to screw everything up— “ I just— Bucky, it’s been years, you can’t expect me to believe you actually— “

“ I do, though. “ God, he sounds miserable, already pulling away as though there’s no hope, and Steve never wanted this— “ I— ever since I walked into that office and it was you standing there, I— realised what you mean to me. What you always meant to me. “

Steve’s not sure what to do, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what to say, left scrambling for words while he tries to figure out just what to say, how to fix this. But his body’s got a mind of his own, fingers moving to tangle with Bucky’s and it’s— god, he should stop, they need to talk, but he can’t help it, can’t ignore how wonderful it feels, how it fits.

God, it fits. _He_ fits.

“ I.. I know. Me— me too. “

_Well done, Steve._

“ You— really?? “

“ Yeah— Yeah. Really. “

It might as well be the first time Bucky’s smiled at him, because it’s bright and it’s full of hope and it’s beautiful, it’s something Steve can imagine wanting to see every day.

“ Steve— “

“ No, just— let me, I want to— “ Dragging in a deep breath, Steve pulls on Bucky’s hand, drawing him in a little closer, and for weeks Steve has wanted to know how this would feel, has tried to imagine what it would be like to stand this close to him and yet it’s so much better than he ever thought it could be. “ You’re— incredible, Bucky. You always were. And when we were kids.. you were my best friend. More than that. And now I know what that means, I know what that is and I just— At least, I want to find out, if you— “

The next thing he knows, Bucky’s pulling him closer, closing what little distance there is between them, and Steve can’t even get another word in before Bucky’s pressing his lips to Steve’s, soft and careful and a little cautious, as though he’s not sure he’s doing the right thing, but—

God, Steve never imagined anything could feel so _incredible_ , like he’s floating, like nothing around him exists, the entire world zeroing in on Bucky, on the way he’s holding Steve so carefully, the way he’s just waiting for Steve to react, to pull him closer or push him away. And he hardly even realizes he’s doing it as his arm winds around Bucky’s waist, reeling him in and pressing their lips together a little more firmly, more resolute, more sure than anything, and it feels like everything Steve’s been waiting for his entire life, everything he never realized he was missing until this very moment.

There’s a smile on his lips when they break off to catch their breaths, and he can see it mirrored on Bucky’s face, sharp and strong and utterly gorgeous, spreading a warmth through Steve’s heart that he’s never felt before.

He can feel Bucky’s fingers tracing along his cheek, soft and gentle and incredible, and it’s impossible for him not to lean into Bucky’s touch, to turn his head and kiss his palm, to pull him that little bit closer until they’re pressed flush together from hips to chest, and this— this is all Steve could ever want, this is everything he’s imagined and _so much more_.

“ So— guess we’re both hopeless then, huh. “ Bucky chuckles softly against Steve’s skin, a gentle undertone that makes Steve’s smile spread a little further.

“ Kind of, yeah. “ Steve smiles and nuzzles Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky leans into it as though he’s wanted this for just as long, and it’s— “ We could— have another drink, if you want. “

“ Yeah? That sounds— That sounds nice. “

Keeping their hands tightly twined together, they make their way back along the sidewalk, holding each other close and pausing to steal a couple more kisses before they get back to the bar, and Steve can’t help but think that if this was it, if this was all he had, it would be enough.

Bucky would always be enough.


	3. Memories Bring Us Back

The more his mom brushes down the sleeves of his suit, the more _nervous_ he feels.

And it’s ridiculous, really. The two of them have been together for years now, and the only reason it took so long to get engaged was because Bucky planned about five different incredible nights on which he wanted to ask only for each one to fail spectacularly. Before he could even think about trying again, Steve had taken him aside on Thanksgiving last year when their families had gotten together, and popped the question himself.

And somehow it’d still been perfect.

“ Relax, James. Everything’s going to be _fine_. “ Winifred tells him with a smile, looking into the mirror in front of him, and something in her eyes goes a little faraway - it has been every now and then lately, as though she can’t believe her little boy is all grown up and _getting married_ \- and Bucky can’t help but smile just a little. Because really, he still can’t believe this is happening, either.

“ Becca’s ready, right? She’s not still complaining about her dress? “

“ She’s ready, honey. And she’s decided she loves it. “

Well there’s a miracle in itself. The amount of fussing Becca had done to get her dress _exactly_ the way she wanted it - even though _she made it_ \- had been ridiculous, and if Bucky has to hear it one more time—

“ Hey— mom, can I— “ Turning to face his mother, Bucky reaches for her hands, holding them both between his, and he’s not sure how to say it, not sure how to explain how _nervous_ he is, how there’s an awful bubbling feeling in his stomach that makes him so terrified something’s going to go wrong, even though he should know better. Between her mother and Steve’s mother, today has been planned out like clockwork. And with his dad keeping an eye on things there’s no way anything could possibly go wrong. And yet—

“ It’s going to be fine, James. I promise. Trust me— he’s just as happy as you are. “

Bucky can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, the relief that spreads through his heart, the comfort from the way his mother squeezes his hands. He’s still nervous, that’s not quite gone yet, but— somehow he knows, no matter what, when he sees Steve? It’ll all be worth it.

It always was.

—

There’s about a hundred things Steve is _sure_ he needs to check on, and a hundred other things he needs to run over with his mom and with George and with— god, who else, there was _someone_ —

“ Steven, relax. You’re frowning again. “

Sarah’s voice cuts through his panic, and Steve forces himself to relax, forces the frown to smooth out to a small sort of smile. It’s just— _hard_ , waiting for the right time, waiting for the moment when he can finally walk out there and just get _married_ , and he’s wanted this for years, longer than he could have imagined. He’d been so nervous, asking Bucky to marry him, so scared it wasn’t the right time, or it was too soon.

But he’d said yes, and everything had fallen into place from there.

“ Sorry, mom. Just— nervous, that’s all. “

At least he’s not pacing the length of the room anymore. That’s one bonus.

“ Listen, it’s going to be fine. You two are perfect for each other. You always have been. “

Steve opens his mouth to respond - though with what, he has no idea - when there’s a knock on the door, and he’s rushing to answer it before he even thinks about it, pulling it open to see— 

“ Bucky— what— what are you doing here? We’re not supposed to— “

“ Pretty sure that’s about the bride, Steve. And neither of us are brides. “

He can’t help but laugh at that, a small chuckle that eases some of the tension out of his body. And he looks— god, he looks _amazing_ like this, not that he doesn’t always, but there’s something about seeing him like this that makes Steve’s heart skip a beat, makes him feel as though he could sit here and just watch Bucky and he wouldn’t be disappointed in the slightest.

Clearing her throat, Sarah pats them both on the shoulder and brushes past them, closing the door behind her to give them a moment, and Steve doesn’t waste any time in pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“ Hey— “ Bucky leans up for a kiss, brief and soft and sweet and so familiar after all these years, and somehow it still reminds Steve of that first night on the sidewalk, how everything had just seemed to make so much more sense after that first kiss. “ Love you, you know. “

“ Love you too, you know. “ Steve smiles and steals another quick kiss, and he knows they’re running low on time, they have to get out there soon, but— he can spare a few moments.

He always has for Bucky.


End file.
